“A February Forcing”

by Jen Feroze

At the door of the low, cold shed the pickers pause, 

and they look up at the cloud-clogged sky.

They light their thick, cream candles

then enter their cathedral hushed, heads bowed.

They look up at the cloud-clogged sky,

preparing for another twilit morning.

They enter their cathedral hushed, heads bowed,

and walk among the gently crimson stalks.

Preparing for another twilit morning,

now and then they stoop to pull and twist, 

walking among the gently crimson stalks,

that pinkly creak and pop toward their lights.

And now and then they stoop to pull and twist, 

guided by their thick, cream candles.

A harvest pinkly creaks toward the flames.

Silent in the low, cold shed, the pickers pause.

Jen Feroze lives by the sea in Essex, UK, with her husband and two small sleep thieves. She's inspired by the seemingly everyday, and likes to write with a stubborn upswing of hope in her work. Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Madrigal, Capsule Stories, The 6ress and Hyacinth Review, among others. Her first collection, The Colour of Hope, was published in 2020.